Weary Warriors
by timefreak
Summary: Post-War Jake meets Post-War Harry


**Disclaimer - don't own, never have, never will.**

**The little fic is set post-war, for both Jake and Harry. I just re-read the Animorphs, and didn't know what to do with my life when I was done. You know the feeling. Hence this fic.**

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**Weary Warriors**

I am drunk when I meet him.

I hate alcohol. I loathe the loss of inhibition, the loss of control. But from time to time I give in, I go to a little bar out in the countryside, besides a sleepy little town and get completely hammered.

For a little while, I forget.

I forget the war. I forget the battles, the scars, the blood, the damn bloody murder. I forget I sent my cousin to kill my brother.

He pays for my drinks when I begin talking about the yeerks. He stops me from getting into my car while drunk.

Somehow, I land up sitting in a chair at the back of the little bar. People will do anything for me. There is hardly anybody in this world who doesn't know who I am.

My name is Jake Berenson. The great hero who saved the galaxy from the evil Yeerks. The young boy who stood against all odds. Jake the Leader. Jake the Hero.

Jake the Murderer. Jake the Yeerk-Killer.

When I wake up, I'm still in the chair. My muscles ache, my head pounds.

The sun has just set, the sky is blood-red in the distance, a dark blue overhead. Clouds obscure the stars.

He is sitting in a chair across me, his eyes fixed on my face. Despite having been drunk, I remember him, remember his kindness.

"Thanks," I croak.

He merely smiles, and points to my side. A tall glass of water sits on a tiny table. I greedily gulp the water.

"Sorry- I don't remember your name." I set the glass down. "What is it?"

"Harry," he replies.

"I'm Jake."

Harry doesn't say anything, but relaxes back into his chair. He has a neatly trimmed beard, messy black hair, is probably a little shorter than me. His hair moves in the strong breeze, and I see a faint scar, shaped like a lightning bolt.

His eyes are a striking emerald green, but there is something in it...something very familiar. There is a tiredness in his eyes, a faint hauntedness.

I have become used to people falling over themselves when they realize who I am. But I see no awe in Harry's eyes, I see no crazy fanboy-ness.

I do see respect, kindness. And I see...understanding?

Strange. I turn twenty in a few months, Harry must be around my age.

The long war taught me to trust my instincts. The same instincts that saved the human race are telling me I can trust him.

But I don't really trust. Not anymore.

"Did I do something, say something...?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not really, you didn't disclose any secrets, don't worry."

His accent is British.

"Yeah well, thanks for looking out for me. It was probably for the best I didn't drive drunk."

"It would be a pretty pathetic way to go," Harry says, a small smile gracing his lips. "After everything else you've survived."

I shrug. "I did what I had to."

"Leadership is a heavy burden," Harry says, his voice faraway.

"It was," I agree, just about managing not to roll my eyes. What does he know?

I am about to get up when he speaks.

"Jake..." Harry pauses, his eyes closing for a few seconds. "It doesn't help."

"What?"

"I'm not judging you," he says, a small, sad smile on his lips. "And I don't claim to have borne a burden as heavy as yours was...but I have fought and killed. I have lost. And when my war was over, I didn't know how I would survive."

I have learnt not to judge a book by its cover. My gut tells me he isn't lying, that he's being honest.

"You look quite young," I offer.

"I faced the man who killed my parents when I was eleven," Harry says. "I took my first life when I was eleven - I killed his right hand man. I survived. I fought while I was very young, but it was some time ago now...I look a fair bit younger than my true age.

"I had a wife to help me discover a normal life, but then she died. Natural causes, but it still hurt. I turned to alcohol and drugs. It helped me forget - for a bit. But then later I'd feel worse. A lot worse."

There is long pause, as I take in everything he has just said. A part of me wants to lash out, to say he doesn't really understand, that no one can possibly understand what it was like.

But the understanding in his eyes is all too real.

"What helped," I finally asked.

He shrugged. "You do something you like - I teach at a primary school. Sometimes I get impatient with the slow, steady life, sometimes I wish my war had never ended because I didn't really know a life without it. But you cope. You survive. And at some point - you live."

Harry sighs. "Your fight was greater - bigger - I don't claim to be able to completely relate to you. But I see the lingering pain in your eyes - I saw it in the mirror everyday."

"I don't remember hearing about another war," I say. Not the most subtle line of questioning, but it seems to work anyway.

"My society was very private, secluded. The war was hidden from the public - but there were a couple of years when freak accidents would happen frequently, unexplained deaths were on the rise..." Harry shakes his head. "But that was a fair few years back, the world wasn't as connected as it is today."

He doesn't want to volunteer much information, I can understand that.

"So it was between you and the person who killed your parents?"

Harry nods.

"Did you kill him?"

"I killed him," Harry confirms. "I killed him, his followers, his pet snake. I made choices - not on the scale that you did - but I did make choices. Whatever you did, you had to make the big decisions, it was all on you, and you came through. The human race owes you Jake, the galaxy owes you. Accept it, move on."

"Is it that easy?"

Harry chuckles. "No."

"Did you ever directly cause someone to die - someone you cared for?"

"My godfather," Harry answers. "I was a fool, young and naive - I believed that good would triumph over evil without any bloodshed, without us becoming like them."

"I sent Rachel to her death," I blurt out.

Harry looks surprised by that.

"I sent Rachel to her death," I repeat. "I sent my cousin to kill my brother."

"You blame yourself," Harry says softly.

I shrug.

"You should."

I stare at him. "What?"

"You sent her to die. You asked her to kill your brother."

I continue staring at him.

"You made the choice. You can't change it. It happened, you know it happened, she's dead, he's dead. You made the hard decisions, but you played the hand you had, and you won. Jake..." Harry leans forward, his green eyes are intense. "Jake - you won. Earth is free."

"So..." I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. "you just...accept it?"

"Pretty much," Harry agrees.

Silence reigns - an easy, comfortable silence. Finally Harry gets to his feet.

"Time heals all wounds," Harry says. "Take care Jake."

"You too."

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**In my mind, Harry is the Master of Death - I've referenced a long time having passed since his own war.**

**It's not my best work, far far from it. I'm toying with the idea of expanding on this - maybe a slow Harry/Jake friendship fic, but no real plot comes to mind, and To Master The Dark is my priority.**

**Thanks for reading.**


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